Real talk tonight No metaphors allowed
by cacticabbage
Summary: "We're the only two people in this - this "thing", to use our metaphor. We're the only two, we made these metaphors and of course, sure enough, we're also the ones who don't get them. It's just, you know, so –" "So us." One week after Three Hearts, Deeks and Kensi realize they really need to talk without bullshitting around. Trigger-Warning: Mentioning of torture


She's feeling restless. She has for a week. Ever since they've had their "conversation" she's been confused and restless.

Not at work, but at home when she's alone. At work it's kind of the same as always. He jokes, she laughs, they banter, Sam and Callen tease, they catch bad guys. It's not even weird between them, even when they're alone and Sam and Callen aren't there as buffers. It's normal and after their long time apart, Kensi enjoys it. After everything that's happened, she's long past the point where she could lie to herself about why she enjoys it. He is there and his presence is all around her. But at the same time, she catches herself looking at him when he doesn't notice it. And while she laughs about his jokes, her heart beats a bit to fast. While they are friendly with each other - not even forced friendly, but real – it still hurts, and it's messing with her.

It's 9.47 pm on a Friday night and she's taking a bubble bath. She desperately needs to unwind. Watching TV makes her think of him, sleeping makes her dream of them or have nightmares and she's too empty to deal with that and too tired to go for a run. So she's taking a bubble bath. After everything, she deserves one. She's tearing through a tub of Rocky Road's while she's trying to relax in the water. She tries not to think of him and decides that if she gets through the bath without thinking of him she'll treat herself to a second tub of ice cream.

Knock knock

No, seriously, she was just getting comfortable. The knocker will go away. She needs her bath and she can't deal with her annoying new neighbor at all and even more so not today. Knock knock. Yeah, she has a pretty good idea who might be knocking and it's definitely not her neighbor.

"Kens, I know your home. I have beer."

Its' him. Of course it's him. It's their thing to show up at ungodly hours to make an even bigger mess and let everything spiral out of control.

She groans. Why is he here? So she gets out of her perfectly temperate bath water and decides she can just wrap a towel around herself, get her beer, and return to her bubble bath. She won't ask him in.

She opens the door. "Hey," she mumbles and her restlessness comes to the culmination point. Her nerves are tense and she has to breathe around the lump in her throat.

"Hey I just wante- ," He stops mid-sentence and his eyes grow a little bigger for a second.

She stands there in her door, blue towel wrapped around her body, skin still wet and a little chocolate flake sticking to the corner of her mouth. His heart securely launches itself into his gut.

There's a faint grin playing around her lips while she watches him stare at her. He snaps out of it. "Right, one calls before one comes over. I should have… should have." He's looking everywhere but at Kensi. "I should go," he ads. He's half turned around when Kensi speaks up because she's stupid and she can't let it go. "Can I get my beer anyway?"He turns around again and tries to awkwardly get a beer out of the six pack. He's holding a plastic bag with a tub of ice cream as well. Probably triple chocolate with mint, Kensi thinks. The beer bottle jams and despite herself, Kensi thinks that all his awkward shuffling to get it out is adorable. He lets out an exasperated huff, hands over the entire six pack and sends her an embarrassed grin. She anticipates his next motion, and it follows. In typical Deeks style his hand moves up to fidget with his hair. She melts, of course. "Do you wanna come in?"

"Ahm, no. You have things to do, b-bathing and stuff," he takes a deep breath. "I wouldn't want to, to interrupt that."

"I'm actually done," she responds. Liar, shouts the voice in her head. He can probably tell she's lying; he raises his eyebrows but steps inside anyway.

"I'll just get dressed."

"Yeah, you go get dressed, that is a … a good, good idea", he sounds like an idiot and he knows it.

She gets back, dressed in sweats while he has gotten two spoons and opened the ice-cream carton on her coffee table. She joins him on the couch and he hands her a beer. "Sooo," she hums into her open bottle and continues. "Enlighten me, why are you here today?"

"Here to share some ice cream with my partner." He grins but it's not his grin, the one where his eyes get bluer, it's a fake one. A fake one that makes his jaw clench.

"Deeks," she draws out the "e" and he looks away.

Then he gets up and starts walking around her living room. His shoulders are tense. Suddenly he turns around.

"Where do you see all of this going? Seriously, what are we doing?" His voice sounds strange, a bit like a mixture of desperation and anger. He's pacing now and she wants to say something. Reassure him, calm herself down.

She doesn't know what to say to him. "Kensi?" He stops pacing, looks at her. "I kind of need you to answer."

"I don't know how to talk to you, Deeks." She looks up. He looks hurt, or maybe not so much hurt and more like she's pulled the rug out from under him. There's a pause.

"But we're partners, we've done nothing but talk for the last four yea-"

She stops him mid-sentence. "No, I mean I can't, …look, we're talking about raccoons when we try to say something about us, "our thing", or whatever it is. And maybe that's cute in the moment and feels romantic, or I don't know, but I have no clue were that leaves us. Or what you want to hear from me."

He looks confused, opens his mouth, closes it. She gets up again and starts pacing herself. "You gave that knife back to me and suddenly you show up and demand to know where I see "_this_" "_going_"." Her voice is raised and she paints quotation marks into the air. "I don't even know what "_this_" means."

She stops pacing and turns to look at him. "Say something!" There's anger in her voice. He looks to the ground. He came to tell her, to make her understand why he gave her the knife back, to tell her what he did, because she needs to know. He's realized that it's unfair to withhold that kind of information from her.

Kensi is standing with her back to him, until she whips around. "Why are we talking in metaphors?" She looks up at him, eyes all fire and intensity. She's pissed, he can tell. But he thinks she might actually not be pissed at him but at everything else.

"Why Deeks?" It's a rhetorical question, but then again, why not answer a rhetorical question when everything else is too hard to answer. "Because it's shit scary to say what we really feel," his voice is gravely. She sinks down on the couch and looks at him. Maybe it wasn't a rhetorical question after all.

"Deeks, we're using shitty metaphors. We're not making this any easier, we're just making a huge mess and I'm so confused." She leans her head back and closes her eyes. Her hair is splayed out around her head and Deeks can't suppress the butterflies from dancing in his stomach. It is so inappropriate, with everything that's going on, with everything he needs to tell her. But they're dancing because no amount of trying will make him think that she isn't beautiful. Beautiful, but also sad.

"You are right, we really can't be talking about raccoons and third hearts and give each others knives and boxes," he sits down next to her and continues "I lost track of all of these metaphors and of what they mean."

She opens her eyes again. He sits so close and she thinks that his eyes are so blue and that she wishes to grab his hand and pull him to her bedroom. They're so shitty at talking, they should just do. But instead she whispers. "I have no idea what to do and these metaphors aren't helping."

And then there's a smile spreading over his face, despite himself, despite what he came for tonight. "Why are you smiling?" It's a full on grin by now. He looks at her, grin splitting his face until he chuckles and looks onto the floor. "It's just, we're the only two people in this ... you know- this "thing", to use our metaphor. We're the only two, we made these metaphors, we created them and of course, sure enough, we're also the ones who don't get them. It's just, you know, so –"

She's chuckling too now. "It's just so … us," she finishes for him. "We really, really suck at communication."

They're staring at each other until the tension becomes unbearable. Deeks clears his throat. "Ok, I have a proposition," he says.

"Oh God, that sounds dirty and unhealthy," she tries to be funny. If joking to lighten the mood works for him, she'll try it too. He just raises an eyebrow. "Ok, propose away," she says with a slightly sheepish grin. So he takes a breath and braves the storm. "Real talk tonight. No metaphors allowed, no ciphers, no analogies, only the concrete is ok." He extends his hand for her to shake. She stares at him, then at the hand. And then she takes it and holds it for a moment longer than necessary.

"Although Kens, if you compare my hotness to the hotness of the sun, than a metaphor is ok," he grins and his grin falls on her like rain on a desert. "Oh, but only if you compare my beauty to an elf's", she chuckles. "Ok, Kens, you're as beautiful –" She covers his mouth with her hand. "That was a joke!" The mirth in her eyes is infectious and he wants to kiss her. He want's to kiss her so bad. But she has her hand over his mouth and actually he's grateful that she's stopping him from any rash actions. When she lets go, he looks at the wall behind her and then at the carpet. And then at the drapes. He's never realized how ugly they are. For a fact, he's never really noticed the curtain at all, he's always been to busy gawking at Kensi.

"Deeks?"

"Yeah?" He's still staring at her drapes. They're fascinatingly ugly.

"You know, to talk, one needs to say … words. Say something!" She uses her Kensi-Blye-being-the-bad-cop-during-interrogation-voice. It doesn't faze him, not this time. He needs to set this up right, he can't just blurt it out.

"You say something!"

And Kensi, strong, powerful Kensi is not too cheap to play the kindergarten game of "No you, no you".

"It's my apartment, you forced your way into here, it's only fair you begin!" A slight smile is playing around the corner of her mouth. It's so cute Deeks almost lets her win. Almost. Because this is not a game. It might have been in the beginning of the beginning, but not since.

So he takes a deep breath and looks at her. He's stalling with what he says next and he knows it and he hates himself a little more for it. Because he should be brave enough to tell her right away and he shouldn't use this to get out of talking about something horrible. At least he means what he says. "I kissed you on that hilltop. And I really meant it. It's your turn to say something you really mean now".

The fight is going out of her. Her playful full-of-shit-jokester-act is over. She's serious now. She pulls her legs up on the couch, places her head on her knees. Her brain is a void, but she powers through. "I liked that you kissed me," Her voice is soft. She looks at the curtain and then at him. Maybe he's imagining things, and yes, the light is kind of funky, but she's blushing, maybe at least a little. And he forgets how to breathe. She starts picking at a thread of fabric in the curtain.

"I whish I had a moment of that… clarity, I guess. Where I would just … forget everything, the mission, the price of it, where I would just do the things I want to do so much." And then she looks straight at him. She bites her lip. "I really liked our night together," Her voice is barely above a whisper and Deeks thinks he's very happy to live without oxygen and also thinks that it is possible to die of yearning. And also that he is horrible and treacherous and that he is leading her on. Kensi's hair is tumbling in front of her face and he is a brave but sneaky warrior for a second and tucks the strand behind her ear again. He loses himself in the closeness, the warmth of her skin and the silkiness of her hair. "Why don't you just do it then, go for it if you want to?" His hand still rests on her cheek and he immediately hates himself for saying that. It's not the time or the place. He came to tell her the truth, not to flirt with her and he should damn well not try to seduce her. For a second she thinks she should do it, throw caution to the wind, forget about waiting and holding back. And she's about to lean forward because what the heck and they could die tomorrow. But then she realizes that he's not even looking at her but through her. The harsh pang of hurt she feels takes her by surprise in its intensity but she laughs out of a sense of obligation because obviously what he said was meant as a joke.

She leans back and his hand drops down. Her heart hurts anyway, she might as well get confirmation. "You gave my knife back to me. What did that mean?" She asks and continues without letting him answer. "None of it makes any sense. One second we're talking about matching underwear and the next you give the knife back. Does that mean it's over to you, or, like, what did that mean?"

He inhales, exhales, looks at the curtain. He came for this. He owes her an explanation. She doesn't look at him, maybe she can sense his fear and maybe she's scared as well. For a second he prays to a God he doesn't believe in. He prays for courage.

"Kens," he speaks to the back of her head. "Kens, I gave that knife back because…," where are the words? He prepared for this. She turns her head a bit but still doesn't look at him. And he takes that leap and flings himself off the cliff. "When you were in … in Afghanistan, I did something really horrible. Something really, really terrible. And," He needs to take a breath to steady his trembling voice before he goes on. "And I did it because of you, Kens. I wouldn't, I … I wouldn't have done it for anyone else."

He exhales and his breath sounds shaky to his own ears. "But that - that doesn't make it right. If you do something terrible out of,… you know, love," he says it fast and looks at the ceiling, almost hoping that she's missed it. Kensi turns her head and looks at him. He looks down at his jeans, for a moment he really tries to memorize the denim pattern. "It doesn't make it right. Even if you do it for that reason. Actually, I think it makes it more wrong, if you do it for that reason." He releases the breath he'd been holding and has no idea how to go on. He can hear Kensi breathe next to him. He knows her too well. He knows she only exhales like that when she's not in control of a situation, when she's really afraid. He's heard her breathe into her comm once on a mission that almost went really south. The seconds tick away until he can't stand to hear her breathe like that and his trepidation outweighs his fear. He clears his throat. "Did you read the report about your rescue mission?"

It's pathetic that they call it a report. Not even half of what happened made it in there. Not even half of what Sam and Callen did, made it in, so go figure what it said about his course of action. She nods that she's read it and he goes on. "It says that I had the idea for the prisoner exchange because of the intell I had gathered from the cleric. But - Kens, the guy was old and blind. And I didn't get anything out of him."

Exhale, inhale. Kensi does the same next to him and he finds it in himself to carry on. "I tried for hours and hours. And –, " Pause. He needs a step back. "When I was in Law School, they taught us that outcome is everything. And I happily believed them. You know, teleological ethics; the end justifies the means. And when I was doing all those undercover ops for LAPD I was sure that they were right. You know, you lie a little here and you do some shady stuff there, all for the greater good and in the end you catch the bad guy and everything is dandy. But – But that is not true, that is such a cheap lie."

He hears himself laugh, a horrible, appalling laugh and he feels like he might puke. He actually wants to puke. But he doesn't and so he continues. "The old man, the cleric, he didn't give me anything. And then…. They. You know, Hetty, sent me a picture of, of you and, and it looked like you … like you were dead. And your blood – God, there was so much blood." Her breathing stopped to sound afraid so he ventures a glance at her. Tears streak down her face and his heart shatters into too many pieces. He wants to do something. But he can't hug her, not while he's telling her about that. He feels so helpless. Maybe more helpless than when he had a drill in his mouth, maybe more helpless than when he poured that water.

She hands him a tissue and it's only then that he realizes that he is crying, too. He's probably been crying for longer then she has. To hell with it, he will never get out of this labyrinth and he will loose her inevitably, everything he's ever done was in vain anyway. He shouldn't be dragging out their misery.

"And then I-," There's no air in his lungs. Kensi is looking at him and he can't breathe. She takes his hand and holds it. "What happened?" Her voice is so soft, so much softer then it's ever been and he's so afraid. He presses his free hand into his eyes until he sees black stars against his lids. "I… I water boarded the man. The old, blind man. And in that moment, I didn't care."

He's told her. The battle is over and he's the bleeding gladiator lying in the dust of the arena, waiting to be executed.

But she just tightens her hold around his hand and waits. If she's shocked, she doesn't show it.

There is nothing more to loose. "I stopped eventually, but Kensi, I was the monster," he whispers and is as disgusted with himself as he was in the cleric's living room.

She hugs him.

He feels surprise curse through him and maybe relief, a mixture of not deserving her hug and being so grateful for it and for her. "You're not a monster," she whispers against his neck again and again and he wishes nothing more than for her to be right.

Eventually they break apart and he doesn't feel like he's crying anymore and she doesn't cry either. When he finds his voice again he speaks. "I get it, if you don't want to be partnered with a torturer."

"No, Deeks. You're not a torturer," she looks at him and she really means what she says. "The situation was just horrible. And I am so, so sorry you had to be in that situation in the first place. And that is my fault. And-," She looks away and back at him again.

"Deeks, you are not a monster. Had I been in that situation, I would have done the sa-"

"No, Kens", he interrupts her with a raised voice, looks away and continues with a silent tone. "No you wouldn't have. And you didn't. You left me in that chair."

She's silent and looks at him, straight into the eye. She didn't see it coming, that he'd mention that now.

"And I don't hold a grudge, I really don't. I probably admire you, because you stayed professional. You did what you had to do, in the end you got me out of there. The nukes were recovered, the day was safed. I – I didn't stay professional. I lost it, I completely lost it. I'm the one who loses it, not you. Don't pretend you'd loose it too, because you wouldn't." He tries to look away again but she's locking him in place with her eyes.

"No, but Deeks, those are two differen-"  
"They're not and you know it. Kens", his voice gets softer. "The problem is, I would do every, every thing for you. I know you'd be willing to do a lot for me too, but not everything. There's a natural boundary for you. But not for me, I'm willing to do everything for you and not in a romantic sense, like I'd get you a star from the sky. No, I went against my morals and against everything I vowed to myself I would never do. I left myself behind and I became someone I never wanted to bee. I became the guys who put the drill in my mouth and I became my father." He exhales and she wants to interrupt him but he has to carry on. "No Kens, you were right about the frozen lake. My ice cracked and now I'm probably drowning."

"We said no metaphors".

"You get this one, right?

"Yeah. I do." She does and she hates it. She wishes she could say something with meaning but everything sounds hollow.

He looks at her. He loves her. He does. He's never thought that she would love him back. But she does. He's almost sure she does. They way she looks at him right now looks like she does. She's all in and he's the one holding them back. It's not fate tripping them up now, it's not torturous Russians or a five month assignment interfering. It's him who is holding them back. He's sorry, so sorry.

"Kens," he whispers and finds his voice. "I want you so much, but … but not like this. I need to figure out how," Breathe in, gather courage again. "How to love you in a less crazy and destructive and fucked up way. Because I really don't want us to be fucked up. This, and us, this is way to important. You, you are too important to me. And I want to do this right. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry this is so hard, I'm sorry I'm making this more complicated."

He wants his save retreat, he wants to look at the drapes again, but instead he can't help but look at her. Her eyes are glistening with tears but she tries to smile. "I asked you to be patient that day. I can do the same, you know, be patient with you and wait. And really, you're not the only fucked-up one here. I did a lot of wrong stuff. And I wish I could go back but- " She exhales.

He leans his head against hers. "What if it takes me longer than 5 months," he breathes.

"Then it does and I'll wait. I mean we'll be friends right?" She pulls back and looks concerned. "Well hang out and stuff? You'll come over with ice-cream, right?"

"Yeah," He will, he as to.

She glances at the coffee table. "You know what else melted, not just your frozen lake? The ice cream."

"Did you really just make a joke about this?" He kind of can't belief it and at the same time he's inexplicably relieved.

"Yeah, I also made torture jokes after you came back to work," she clenches her jaw and tries to smirk at the same time. "I have a really really inappropriate sense of humor. Like I said, I have a lot to work through as well."

He's about to tease her that she has no humor at all and that yes, she should work on it. But she gets up, goes to her kitchen and returns with a new tub of ice cream. Vanilla and strawberry, family package. She doesn't say anything, sets it down, opens it and starts eating. She puts her hand on his knee and keeps her eyes on the ice cream. Her hand is warm and reassuring. He stars eating too. He's not hungry and he doubts she is, but he feels like it's important to eat ice cream together, to sit next to her, be in the same place at the same time and do the same thing.

They'll do that for as long as it will take.


End file.
